Waking amidst a cloud of white powder, Devon cannot believe what he beheld, an image of his childhood fantasy, a skimpily dressed hunk, portraying Santa Claus. The Secret Santa, Erik, taunts Devon with erotic gestures in conveying Santa’s message for Devon to be enlisted as a Secret Santa. Devon must perform certain tasks to prove his love and loyalty to his lover, Peter. Continuously appearing and vanishing in a shroud of white powder, Erik guides Devon along his path to attain his goal. But Erik tempts him sexually, especially when Devon is exercising to perfect his body for Peter on Christmas Day. Devon attempts to tell Peter about the mysterious Secret Santa but receives a disbelieving response. Through all the temptations and with approach of the big day, how does Peter react to the surprise Christmas Eve party which he did not want? Does Devon prove his love and loyalty to Peter?

Excerpt:

Devon jolted awake from a deep sleep. Opening his eyes, slowly, he focused through a plume of twinkling, white powder to a stranger standing at the foot of the bed. He thought he was imagining this six foot tall man, sculpted like a Greek god. His head was adorned with a red and white Santa hat. His trimmed, snowy white beard blended with the long hair cascading down to his ivory, cropped hairy chest.
Scrutinizing him more thoroughly, he realized he was not an apparition but real. Devon’s penis surged into erection, as he stared at the fluffy, red jockstrap, accenting the large bulge beneath. He couldn’t ignore the black leather suspenders attached to the waistband of the Christmas themed loin cloth and the shiny, dark, leather boots, stretching to his knees. He never imagined Santa Claus would excite him as this man did.

“Have you given up on the true spirit of Christmas?” The Santa Claus imposter smiled and sat at the edge of the bed next to Devon.

Devon’s right hand brushed a few strands of his unruly hair from his eyes. Becoming more alert, he focused his eyes more from the previous distorted vision. He turned to wake Peter, but his partner was gone.

“Oh, I am real. Want to touch?” The man extended his muscular arm within Devon’s reach.

Devon wrapped his two hands around his biceps. “Okay. So you are real. Man, are you really real. But you are not Santa Claus.”

”Well…-no. But I’m a special assistant, assigned to help him.”

“You’re one of his elves, then?”

“No. Look at me. Do I really look like an elf?”

“Yeah right. You can’t be one of Santa’s elves. You’re too big. And the size of that bulge beneath your very revealing jockstrap would definitely eliminate you.”

“I’m a Secret Santa.
I was sent here to rekindle your love and happiness.” The secret assistant edged closer, the bulge in his pouch becoming more pronounced.

“Did the real Santa Claus send you to seduce me?”

“Oh; no, no, no!
You’ve been selected to be a Secret Santa, like me.” He shimmied next to Devon, until there was physical contact between them. “I’ll teach you how to become a Secret Santa. I’ll reignite the fire of your passion with an exceptional power found in a special recipe from the North Pole’s almighty vault. Ultimately, Peter’s happiness will be restored.” He stooped, rubbing his broad shoulders against Devon’s chest. He looked up at Devon and smiled.

“I’m getting aroused? This shouldn’t be happening, if you were sent by the real Santa.”

“I’m only testing you, and your love for Peter. And to evaluate your qualifications.” He set his hand on Devon’s thigh, massaging it, firmly.

“A test? This is the worst temptation I’ve had in years.
What’s your name?”

“It will get easier,” he spoke softly, continuing to grope his leg. “I’m Erik, of Nordic descent.”

“Is sex before dinner with Little Old St. Nick the true meaning of Christmas?”

Jonathan and Prescott have a fairy tale relationship until one year when they hit rock bottom. A last ditch effort by Prescott to decorate for the holidays accompanied by their next door older neighbor’s kinky gifts and a Christmas dinner. Jacob has the appearance of a little old ST. Nick. His efforts help Jonathan and Prescott resolve their problems. Years later Jonathan has the same opportunity to help their neighbors by playing the role of Little Old St. Nick.
Does sex before Christmas dinner play an important part of Christmas to Little Old St. Nick?

Excerpt:

Jonathan and Prescott lived a fairy tale romance, especially during the holiday season. They loved each other with devotion, never expressing jealousy. They were both very handsome men and took pride in their grooming, never to allow sloppiness to enter their lifestyle. Every year, they celebrated Christmas and the holidays with unusual and exotic festivities. Jonathan studied the display of twinkling, multi-colored lights he had strung on the on the Christmas tree. Looks good. But lacks something. Ah, yes, the ornaments, of course. I’m so glad we collected our ornaments from all over the world. They’re our memories of our fabulous trips. I can remember where we got that hand-blown glass one. Let me look for it. It was from Germany. The colors in it are so beautiful. It is so amazing how the lights dazzle you as they reflect through it. He unwrapped the ornaments, carefully setting them aside to hang, momentarily. Here it is. He hung the ornament and watched the lights filter through the various hues of glass. Ah, yes. Just as I remembered it. He continued to hang the ornaments on the tree.

Upon finishing the decorating, Jonathan sat in the windowsill, inspecting the tree for any empty spaces. He found the tree adequately filled with enough ornaments. He turned and watched the snow fall on the tall spruce tree in the front yard. It had cloaked the tree, the lights he had strung almost disappearing. Our yard looks so nice, the tree lit up and the eaves of the roof sparkling brightly with all the colors. It will be so nice to have all our friends and family here for the party. Everyone seems to enjoy it. I am so glad that the food we collected for the needy will help out this year. Times have been rough and people need food, especially on Christmas. I hope Prescott likes the presents I give him this year. It wasn’t easy finding things original. I think he will be so hot in that see through jock strap. He has such a nice dick. The way tapers to a big bulging crown when it’s hard. I love our sexual romp in bed while the prime rib cooks for Christmas Day dinner. I love the holidays. It’s so festive.

He watched a UPS truck pull up. The man jumped out with a bundle of packages for their neighbor across the street, Jacob. Our Little Old St. Nick has been remembered. I wonder who started calling him that. Prescott or me? But he does look like Santa. His little pot belly, that snow white hair and beard. Even his eyes sparkle when he laughs. He’s such a dirty old man, though. I love his stories with Rosa. He tells us everything that goes on with her. Even their sexual escapades. He’s funny. He has certainly enjoyed our Christmas dinners. I hope we have his strong sexual drive when we’re his age. He made us laugh that time he gave us a box of condoms. He brings us mistletoe each year and begs to watch us kiss. I suppose that is why we call him Little Old St. Nick. The UPS man drove his truck down the street. Jonathan continued to watch the snow pile up again on the street, remembering their Christmas morning event. First, we open our stockings. Then, we rush to the Community Center and feed a hot meal to the homeless for the annual Christmas Feast. We donate coats and sweaters. We’re not quite as guilty for having prime rib and spending money on lavish gifts for ourselves.

But it was not always a season of joy and harmony. Back in the first years of their relationship, they did not have it so good. Jonathan was unemployed. They lived each day on a dwindling budget; they barely had enough food for Christmas Day dinner.

Billie hands his partner, Glenn, his Christmas card, a picture of them in scant underwear taken years before when their bodies were younger. Billie requests they undress and get into the same underwear, depicted on the cover of the card for a night of frolic. When the Christmas carols begin to play on the stereo, Glenn is surprised by the four bartenders from the new bar, My Man cave, holding large Christmas ornaments in front of their naked bodies to assist in decorating for Christmas. The a little later, there is a knock at the dining room door. The salesman from the Christmas tree lot delivers their tree without any clothes. Finally, their hunky neighbor arrives in a Santa suit to help celebrate in the festivities. Can Glenn hold out for the final celebration in bed with Billie?

Excerpt:“Open this and you’ll find out how I’m trying to be good this year.” Billie handed Glenn an envelope. Glenn opened a Christmas card. “Oh, no. This is the picture of our first Christmas together. You were really devious that year. ” But he was still suspicious of Billie’s intentions. “Where’d you find this picture?”

“Never mind. Why don’t you give me a kiss? Just like you did under that mistletoe in the picture?”

“You have to wear some underwear like you did that day."

“That’s a definite possibility when we get home. But only if you wear a red jockstrap.”

Glenn ignored his comment, studying the cover of the card more carefully, while Billie paid the waiter. On the drive home from the restaurant, Glenn reminisced over the first Christmas they had spent together fifteen years ago. Billie had hung mistletoe from a eucalyptus tree limb in the backyard of the house. He knew Billie had saved those Santa hats. They took pictures of each other, grasping a branch that suspended horizontally, dressed in only red Santa hats and festive underwear, Glenn in his red jockstrap and Billie in thin, red silky briefs. Of course, that was many years before when they were much younger, very much in love, and willing to do almost anything sexually bold.

“I suppose you hung mistletoe from a tree in our backyard?”

“No, but there is some hanging above the steps in the dining room. We can take pictures again for our Christmas cards next year.” Billie parked the car in front of their house.

“I don’t think so. Not at our age. I don’t think our friends would be thrilled by me in a jockstrap.”

“You’d be surprised. You’re still very sexy.”

They walked into the house, everything was festive inside, except the tree which had yet to be decorated.

"How much did you have to beg or do for whoever helped you for your Christmas gift?" Glenn opened the card again. He remembered the chill of the cold December air rushing around and through him, especially since he had been dressed only in his seasonal, red and white jockstrap that first Christmas. "I’m getting cold just thinking of that first Christmas."

"Not a thing, when I said it was for you. Don't you think I'd be sizzling hot in a pair of underwear you like so much?" Billie bragged about the low-cut red briefs he had worn that year, purposely to taunt him. Glenn preferred the satin-smooth nylon fabric. The thin silk-like fabric aroused him. He liked to feel Billie’s dick hardening through the flimsy
underwear. "Yes, you would look enticing. I don’t believe your gift didn’t
cost anything.”

“I’ll be right back.” Billie interrupted him, escaping from Glenn’s inquisition, rushing to their bedroom. He quickly shed all his clothes and pulled out a pair of red boy shorts from the drawer in the dresser. The material was thin and soft to the touch. I know he’ll like these. He slipped them on and put on the familiar Santa hat. He pulled out a red jockstrap for Glenn and placed it on the bed next to the other Santa hat. As he entered the living room, Billie flaunted his attire.

About the Author:

Pablo Michaels disguised himself as a shy, friendly heterosexual during his adolescence, fantasizing other males. Falling in love with another man his first year in
college, he followed him to another university to maintain their platonic love, while he continued in his in studies. When he had his first sexual encounter with another man, just before turning twenty-one, he exploded into gay life with lust and anger. He attempted to live his new life naturally, seeking love, ignoring the statistics of the books he read on homosexuality in high school, and proving what he had read was wrong.

He wrote poetry and stories since third grade. When he turned twenty-one, he moved to San Francisco to work and write, experiencing more of gay life. In the 1980's he wrote every chance he had, trying and failing miserably at publishing mainstream fiction. He published his first story in 1986 in a literary magazine.

After writing plays, short stories, poetry, and two novels, he began writing gay genre stories, since he had more knowledge and experience with gay lifestyle. Trying to publish, he went to a library seminar hosted by two published authors. Inspired by the gay writer, Scott Kemble he connected with him on the internet site for The San Francisco Bay Area Literary Arts Newsletter and Review, which published four of Pablo's short stories.

Feverously writing since 2004, he published his first e-book, “Pagan Knights of Cambria“ with Life of Riley Productions in London. Soon a mainstream story, "When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again Hooray", published also. In 2012 Pablo self-published his first novel, "Catnip, Rosemary, Rage and Time", combining mystery and humor in a gay, erotic romance. He continues to write more episodes in his next novel, The Deer in the Forest The plot spreads over several decades, about a man's attempts to adapt to the world he lives, all with love, heartache, history and survival at no cost.

Pablo retired from gardening and landscaping to devote his energy to write fiction. As a gay man he wishes to promote his writing in the fictional, gay genre to help others understand the necessity for equal rights for LGBT people and comprehend that love between a man and a man, people of the same sex, is as natural as love between a man
and a woman. Throughout his lifetime he has experienced the long battle of achieving acceptance. He has searched for a committed relationship with another man. He has loved his partner for eighteen years. They were married legally in front of Harvey Milk's bust in the rotunda of San Francisco City Hall by a judge, in 2008. Although their marriage remained legal after the passage of Proposition 8, they continued to work to repeal DOMA and Prop. 8. Throughout his life he has attempted to live and practice peace as a process for living.

His book, Blood, Sweat and Black Leather, a gay paranormal romance, was published by Yellow Silk Dreams in January 2015. His Latest book, Affairs of Men’s Hearts, published in
May 2015 by Yellow Silk Dreams is an anthology of four stories connected by the themes of gay men seeking love with another man, from wishful thinking male to male romances to gay marriage.

BLURB:
After a romantic evening, Rich and Johnny face the light of day as a couple. Johnny’s coming out forces them to face some serious repercussions as the world of collegian jocks adjust to their first openly gay football player.

Rich is still working towards the World Diving Championships with his hopes and dreams set on the 2012 London Olympic Games, while as a couple they deal with concerns closer to home.

With the support of friends and family, the young couple grow closer together, but with prejudices and adversity at every turn will Johnny and Rich be able to tackle the world
together?

No matter what, Rich will always be Johnny’s hero.

“No, I’m not going to and there is nothing you can say that will make me either.” Johnny crossed his arms, a defiant look on his face, his eyes narrowed slits.

Rich leaned in close to Johnny so only he could hear. “If you wear this, I can guarantee you some of the best sex in your life. If you think I get turned on by jock straps…”

Johnny glared down at Rich. “You don’t play fair.”

“Wasn’t it you who recently said that all is fair in love and war?” Rich smirked as he dangled the tiny briefs in front of Johnny.

“It better be the best ever.” Johnny let his arms drop. “Okay. But you promised.”

Again, Rich leaned in close. “Maybe even join the mile high club.”

Johnny’s eyebrows shot up and a grin blossomed on his face. “Deal.”

“Are we done here?” Dan called to the two college men. He was standing at the counter, credit card in hand.

“One more thing, Dad.”
Rich hurried over to him. “This.”

Dan raised his eyebrows slightly. “Oookay then.”

Rich snickered when he saw Johnny blushing.

“I think this will be all,” Dan said to the clerk.

“I’m going to give you a discount,” the young woman said as she rang it up. “It isn’t every day that we can say an Olympian wore some of our gear.”

“I’m not an Olympian yet,” Rich commented.

“Rich Miller, I’ve known you my entire life, and if anyone is going to be an Olympian, it’s you.” Michelle Stubbon smiled at Rich as she started putting the pile of swimsuits,
track suits, shorts, and other things that he and Johnny needed for London in a
bag.

“Thanks, Michelle. I appreciate the confidence everyone has in me.”

“Just remember us lowly folk when you come home with Olympic gold,” she laughed as she handed Dan the
receipt.

Max Vos is the bestselling author of My Hero. He is loved by his readers for his ‘inappropriate’ side, bringing hot and steamy sex to his writing. Not hemmed in by a single genre Max has the ability to woo you with sweet romance, move you with the power of his words and make you question your definition of love.

Having retired in 2011 after more than 30 years as a chef, Max turned his creativity to writing. You can always find wonderful Southern charm, well rounded and vibrant characters with a good meaty story line in a Max Vos book. Each book will give you something new and amazing to love.

Oliver always did have an eye for pretty boys. As soon as he spotted Lawrence at Gabriel’s party, he wanted him. He knew then that Lark was more than just a tasty piece of eye candy. The lust was mutual. The looks Oliver got back from Lawrence were heart stoppers. Always a sucker for a hot stare or two, Oliver was smitten. He’d planned to make a move, but he waited too long. Lawrence had left early and Oliver missed his chance. Tonight he was getting a second chance, and this time he wouldn’t let it slip away.

Oliver wasn’t prepared for Lawrence’s transformation, but that didn’t mean he didn’t like it. At thirty-five, Oliver couldn’t remember ever being attracted to a woman, but his desire for Lark was no surprise. Lark was exactly what he craved—a pretty androgynous boy, with female attributes and male genitalia. Lark could be as girly as he wanted on the outside, just knowing there was a penis under that dress made all the difference. Tantalizing. Lark stole his breath away. Oliver might be a Dominant, but given the chance, Lark could wrap him around his little finger. Unfortunately, it appeared that George had done a number on the boy. How receptive would Lark be to a Dominant man? Time would tell.

Lee: So blue jeans and a t-shirt aren’t all that wild, but… Anyway.
*refills coffee* I’m not sure you need any more of this, Havan.

Havan: But...it’s coffee.

Lee: You seem to be properly caffeinated already. Let’s see what
we’re dealing with here on the Wild Side. I’m prepared for outrageous
questions. Are you?

Havan: I was a boy scout, I’m prepared for everything…*waggles*

What’s your writing philosophy?

Lee: Oh… that’s not so wild at all. My writing philosophy is that you
write the story you need to tell. There’s all kinds of advice, and guidance…
some of it downright adamant… about the kind of story people think you
should be writing. You know… “There’s no such thing as love at first sight” or
“First person narration is wrong”. Write your story, your way, and the readers
who are your audience will find you and rejoice that someone understands.

Havan: Go big or go home? Seriously, this is a philosophy that I’m
trying to beat into me. I hold back sometimes. Maybe I think the characters are
acting too crazy, or the sex is too outrageous, or the dialogue is too
corny...and I really need to stop thinking that way. If I don’t put it all into
the book how can I expect the reader to take it all out of the book while
reading? It’s a work in progress to trust in myself and not rein my words in.
The end result makes the struggle worth it. I get the best feedback when I let
the characters just do their thing and stop worrying about appearances.

Fave show to binge watch?

Lee: Right now, I’ve come off a binge-watching marathon of The
Walking Dead, and I’m halfway through the twelve seasons of NCIS. My absolute
favorite though is Top Chef. I’m a Top Chef binge-a-holic, and I do not feel
any remorse over it at all.

Havan: *nods* He is...he’s abandoned me many times because of his
addiction to Top Chef. Me, I’ve got a habit every night after dinner is done
and cleaned up. I go to my laptop and do the “busy” work I have waiting, while
watching Seinfeld and Family Guy. Plus, Judge Judy and People’s Court are
recorded every day on my DVR.

Dream travel destination?

Lee: It’s 37 degrees out right now. My current dream travel
destination is a white sand beach with clear blue skies, gently rolling waves
and plenty of sun. Oh… and a waiter in a thong bringing me margaritas.

Havan: Oh my *wipes drool*...sorry, I got excited by the idea of a
margarita. Oops, that’s the next question, isn’t it? Okay, so my dream
destination has always been New Zealand and Australia. I would love to visit
both places. :)

Does tequila make your clothes fall off (or your go-to cocktail)?

Lee: Yes. But to be honest, so do wine, coffee, and a few dozen other
things like good music. Face it, naked is better.

Havan: I can’t top that… *waggles*

Thank you Wake Up Your Wild Side
for getting wild and crazy with us. If you’d like to read more about the great
people of Parkerburg check out their books Christmas
in His Heart and Heart on the Run…with
more to come too! Because the Hearts of Parkerburg are enough to make you go
woo woo.

Blurb:

Charles Darwin Millsworth, Chaz to one and all since infancy, has no wish to live up to the grandeur of his name. Fortunately, his Southern belle mama isn’t at all inclined to push her son into a career that won’t make him happy. She thinks he needs to loosen up and enjoy life. After all, that’s the whole point of being independently wealthy, isn’t it?

Chaz can see her point, but his father died in his forties as did his father before him. As far as Chaz is concerned, he has limited time on this earth to make his dreams come true. And he refuses to leave anyone weeping over a wasted life.

Sprocket Moretti is a simple guy. He loves his job, enjoys college, lives in his beloved childhood home—why worry about the little things when the big stuff looks so good. Unfortunately one of the little things he tries not to stress over is a broken friendship with a very hot and bewildering sous chef. They were pals, hung out and had fun. But one night they stepped over that invisible line, and the next morning Chaz kicked Sprocket out of his bed and his life.

Now, no matter how much Sprocket tries to charm Chaz, the guy has no desire to return to their pre-sex playful bantering ways. And if Sprocket stays true to his motto, this little thing—Chaz—should be written off and never worried about again.

If Sprocket had known one night of reality altering orgasms would endanger their easygoing friendship… How do you finish that sentence when all your mind wants is its friend back and all your body wants is another taste?

Words: 59,000 words

Excerpt:

Sprocket grabbed the grande hot chocolates—with a dash of his favorite flavoring, pecan—and reached the gazebo with five minutes to spare, per the clock tower.

He set the drinks on the bench of the gazebo so he could spread the blanket across the floor.

“Wow, that’s a huge blanket,” Chaz stated as he took the three step up to stand at the edge of it.

“Never took you for a size queen.” Sprocket winked as he handed him a cup of steaming goodness. “So, what’s for lunch?”

“Oh, well…” Chaz held the basket close to his chest as he slipped off his shoes and situated himself in the middle of the blanket. “Not much.” He pulled a thermos from the basket. “I made homemade tomato soup and chicken salad sandwiches.” He set the thermos down and pulled out wrapped sandwiches, a bag of croutons, a plastic bowl with a translucent red lid, and a small stack of china dishes in rapid succession.

“My grandma used to make me tomato soup and grilled cheese all the time. Except she’d actually grill the cheese before putting it on the sourdough toast. I tried to make it once…didn’t end so well.” He laughed as he shook his head, settling down next to Chaz on the blanket.

“But I’ve heard you and Mason talk; you cook most of the time between the two of you.”

Sprocket accepted the sandwich handed to him and nodded. “Yep. Well you know, we both can cook, but neither of us gets much fun out of it.” He unwrapped the sandwich and picked up half, biting into it. He couldn’t suppress his moan. Damn that was good, and Chaz put nuts in it for crunch, walnuts and pecans. How did he know pecans were Sprocket’s favorite? A part of him wanted to believe maybe Chaz had asked around. Anyone in Craft Time would know and Prudence did too.

Not that it mattered either way. Nothing strange about a friend—and only a friend—knowing something as mundane as that. He quickly chewed and swallowed. “And we definitely don’t do fancy. Unless you count roast, but even then I sprinkle the seasoning on it and throw it in the oven. No fuss, no muss.”

With his next bite, something popped in his mouth, making him want to gag. He held it back, and while Chaz gazed out over the park at the kids running in the playground Sprocket lifted the toast to see what he bit into. Grapes. He grimaced as he quickly plucked the halved grapes out of the salad and dropped them on the napkin by his leg.

“You don’t like grapes?”

Sprocket jumped. Fuck…busted. “I like them fine. I like them right off the vine, frozen, even mashed up as wine…don’t like them so much with seeds, though.”

“Or in a sandwich, apparently.” Chaz noted, gesturing to the evidence on the blanket between them.

“Well…” Sprocket jammed the rest of the sandwich in his mouth and chewed slowly, biding himself some time. While he was trying to break down the enormous amount of food in his mouth, he grabbed the other half of the sandwich and proceeded to pick the grapes out of that also.

Chaz raised an eyebrow at him, and he shrugged. He’d already been caught, no use faking it up now.

Reaching over, Chaz snatched Sprocket’s wrist and guided it to his mouth. Sprocket gulped the food in his mouth down, his stomach somersaulting either from the partially chewed lump it just received or because of the man sitting across from him on the blanket.

This wasn’t what friends did. Friends didn’t use their friend’s fingers as utensils. Still, he probably could’ve gotten past this moment if there hadn’t been a smidge of mayonnaise on the tip of his nail. Chaz spotted it, and while staring Sprocket in the eye, he put that spot right in front of his mouth. They sat like that for an eternity. Sprocket could feel his heart pounding fast, wondered if his pulse alerted Chaz to his extreme interest in the man’s next move.

He wanted to shout at Chaz to lick him. Do it now. Put him out of his misery. There was nothing Sprocket wanted more than to experience the wetness of Chaz’s tongue as it cleaned the white stuff from his finger. That was a lie. Sprocket wanted them to make more white stuff that had to be cleaned off, the kind you couldn’t purchase in a store. Well, maybe you could purchase it…but he really didn’t want his brain to go off on that tangent.

Finally—finally!—Chaz licked the condiment off. Before he could move back and call an end to this little episode, Sprocket broke free of his grip and hooked his hand behind the other man’s neck, holding him there, unable to move away.

When their lips met, it wasn’t gentle and coaxing. Sprocket wasn’t in that kind of mood. He wanted bad and he wanted now. Fuck friends. That whole concept was overrated if it kept him up all night in need. Anyway, this wasn’t his fault. Chaz started this shit; Sprocket would finish it.

And this time, he’d be better prepared. When Chaz kicked him the fuck out of his life, it wouldn’t tear him apart. Because no matter what, he’d make sure there wasn’t a spot in his heart for Chaz. Sprocket willingly would give up half his bed for the man, but nothing more.

While diving his tongue in Chaz’s mouth—reaching far enough back he could say with great certainty Chaz no longer had tonsils—Sprocket damn near convinced himself that he could do that, too.

Then Chaz whimpered, his hand pressing against Sprocket’s chest, right over his heart, and Sprocket knew he was a goner.

Somewhere in a small town in up-state New York are a librarian and a second grade teacher to whom I owe my life. That might be a touch dramatic, but it’s nevertheless one hundred percent true.

Because they taught me the joy of reading, of escaping into worlds crafted of words.

Have you ever been nine years old and sure of nothing so much as that you don’t belong? Looked at the world from behind glasses, and wondered why you don’t fit?

Someone hands you a book, and then you turn the page and see… There you are, running from Injun Joe in a dark graveyard; there you are fencing with Athos; there you are…beneath the deep blue sea- marveling at exotic creatures with Captain Nemo.

I found myself between the pages of books, and that is why I write now. It’s why I taught English and literature for so many years, and it’s why my house contains more pounds of books than furniture.

If I’d had my way, I’d have been a fencer…or a starship captain, or a lawyer, or a detective solving crimes. But instead, I am a writer, and I’ve come to realize that’s the best thing in the world to be, because as a writer, I can be all those things and more.

If I hadn’t learned to value the stories between the pages, who knows what would have happened? Certainly not college…teaching…or writing.

Havan Fellows:

I annoy, love, respect, scare, seduce, hurt, anger, infatuate, frustrate, flatter, envy, amuse and tolerate everyone. I just do it better in writing thanks to a little thing called…edits.

Okay no, seriously…I'm a simpleminded person who enjoys the escape from real life through a book. I write with the group Story Orgy and hope to continue doing so for a long time. I also am privileged to be with the Pulp Friction writers, creating intermingling books in a world all our own.

I recently took the drastic step of quitting my EDJ (evil day job) and am now living in the gorgeous desert in Arizona making a go at this writing stuff full time…and I can’t see me regretting this decision ever.

Just like every other red-blooded human—I get a little bouncy when I get mail (any kind too…email, comments, private messages…you wanna do it, do it with me *winks*). So feel free to drop me a line—whether it's on my blog, twitter, PInterest, or you track me down on FaceBook or Google +…it's easy to catch someone who wants to be caught.